Northern Winds
by Narelena
Summary: As winter approaches, Peter finds himself overwhelmed with daily ‘High King’ duties. Meanwhile, Lucy endeavors to dispel Narnia's lingering fears of the cold. As she involves all of her siblings in her plan, Peter makes an unexpected discovery.


Disclaimer: Narnia and its characters are not mine. No infringement intended upon the property of C.S. Lewis, Disney, Walden Media, or anyone else involved.

Author's Note: Thank you to all who reviewed my last story. All mistakes are that of the author.

I have been debating the format of this story. I would appreciate your thoughts on posting as one long piece versus several shorter 'scenes'.

Summary: As winter approaches, Peter finds himself overwhelmed with daily 'High King' duties. Meanwhile, Lucy endeavors to bolster Narnia's moral and dispel lingering fears of the cold. As she involves all of her siblings in her plan, Peter makes an unexpected discovery. (Peter's point of view; includes all four siblings; set the first winter of their rule)

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The shifting wind plays with my hair, tugging and toying with the growing locks. It comes bearing the first of the winter storms. The scent of the sea air is obscured by the aroma of the northern lands, promising violent weather and ensuing cold temperatures. If I had any sense, I'd turn away from the arched balcony and go back to bed. But I never said I had any sense. I might have a crown, but I'm beginning to think that surviving long enough take up the throne was the easiest thing I would do in Narnia. The White Witch cannot compare to my daily 'to do' list. I should not think such things; it borders on blasphemy. But I really could use a "High King" handbook or instruction manual or something.

I stretch, listening to my joints creak and pop as they have since I began training with sword and shield in earnest the previous spring. The wind picks up, causing the candles to flicker and gutter and the cloud layer to thicken. I can no longer see the stars that drew me here some time ago, offering solace for my riotous thoughts. Perhaps I will be able to sleep now, though my dreams have given me little comfort of late. Sighing, I pull a heavy tapestry across the opening and retire to my sleeping chamber, dousing candles as I go.

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"Peter!"

_Dear Alsan!_ I am jolted into awareness by some unidentified cry.

Before I can register my surroundings, I'm reaching for the knife under my pillow and trying to escape from whatever is binding me. With dazed alarm, I realize a small form is darting toward me. Unfortunately, I have been well fettered and cannot escape. Something collides into me.

"Peter, are you awake?"

Lucy. Lucy, who's now trying to squirm her way under the coverlet. The coverlet that is currently imprisoning me in bed.

"Peter, put the knife down. Besides, had I been a real intruder the knife would have done more good if it were out of its sheath. Stop that."

The last was directed as my futile fight with the bed linens; I stop long enough to glare are her. "Lucy, what's wrong?" My eyes travel over her looking for injuries or signs of distress. I only find my unscathed baby sister looking far too cheerful for having just gotten out of bed. Slowly, my racing heart calms as she untangles the linens.

"Nothing's wrong; why would something be wrong?" Lucy is impervious to glares and her good mood will not lessen. In a moment, I will be _glad_ I was wrenched from the first dreamless sleep in nights by Lucy. She does that, and I have no idea how.

"There is a terrific storm out there now, but that's not why I woke. Or it is, but not in a bad way. Maybe it was bad because the wind was banging the shutters in my sitting room, but an attendant closed them before I had made it out of bed. Funny, that, having such conscientious attendants. It's so nice of them to do that. But then I was awake and heard the most wondrous news. There, that's better. Move over."

My still sleeping brain is trying to comprehend the cascade of language that is flowing out of Lucy, seemingly in one breath. She prods my shoulder and I move, now free of the blankets. She cuddles down beside me; I already feel my irritation draining.

"By the Lion! Lu your feet are freezing!" Perhaps my irritation prematurely fled.

"Yes, the stone is quite chilled this morning. But you are not," she says, looking up at me with a winning smile. What did I do to deserve this? I cannot even summon the slightest exasperation now. I wrap my arm around her, unable to make any protest.

Now looking quite content, Lucy picks up her early narrative, "Anyway, since I was awake and not at all tired anymore, I decided just to start the day. I overheard, not by intentional eavesdropping of course, some fauns discussing the weather. Such a fantastic storm could only be caused by the start of winter."

She looks at me expectantly. Lucy woke me up to discuss the weather? Somehow, I think I'm missing the crux of the issue here. I can hear the faint sound of the rain and wind, but the castle muffles most of the sound.

"What else did they say?" I inquire, although Lucy should really be old enough to tell all the pertinent information at one time. Not like the diplomats who play games with words and enjoy making semantic jungle gyms. But that is for later today, not now. Lucy's squirming again; why does she have such sharp elbows?

I look down at her; seeing that she has my full attention she takes a deep breath and fairly sings out, "They say it is to snow later!"

One blink, then another. "Snow, eh, Lu? That'll be exciting," I comment while my mind scrambles through the implications of a major snowfall. If it's a bad enough storm to cover the seaboard, how bad must it be inland? What is the proper procedure for ensuring that every creature has a warm place to stay, and how will transportation be affect? I know the last shipment of timber from the western wood was suppose to arrive soon, but what if they are trapped on the— "Peter!"

My musings are cut short by Lucy who sits up and pull away from me. Judging by the look on her face I've committed some slight. That seems to be happening a lot recently.

"What do you think?"

"About what?" She looks hard at me, a small pucker forming between her brows. Lucy doesn't glare, per se, but she had a look that will make you beg for her forgiveness in an instant. A look that I'm currently receiving.

"Sorry, Lucy, my mind was wondering. I missed what you said."

"You're mind is always wondering of late," she says, but not maliciously. She brightens again almost immediately. "I have the most fantastic idea, but I have no idea how to make it happen. Or rather I do, but I'm not sure I can. I mean—" I hold up a hand to silence her. How is it that girls can prattle on so?

"What is your idea?" I ask, allowing a hint of "High King" into my voice.

"Well, I thought that since the last winter, or I guess the entire winter during the Witch's reign, is such a bad memory for Narnia, we should do something to make winter more cheerful. Like a holiday or a feast or something so that the inhabitants of Narnia remember that winter is a good thing," she finishes with a flourish of her small hands and a hopeful smile.

Lucy's enthusiasm is like a flood; it starts small and then you are somehow carried away by it. I find myself, as usual, responding to her liveliness.

"I think that is an excellent idea, Queen Lucy." I state, ruffling her hair. She responds by throwing herself into my chest, small arms squeezing. "Ouff—easy Lu. Why don't you see if Edmund and Susan are awake? We can discuss your plan over breakfast." She nearly squeals with joy, kissing my cheek and darting off the bed. Calling a hasting hello to the faun she nearly ran into, she disappears out the door.

I sigh and flop back onto my pillow only to hit something hard. Reaching behind me, I retrieve the object and glare at the sheathed knife. Clearly, I am not meant to sleep any longer. Besides, Lucy's passion _is_ catching. And maybe she'll give Edmund a similar wake up call. As an older brother I can have such thoughts. A few minutes later, a satisfying bellow comes from down the corridor where Edmund's room is. Yes, perhaps today will be a good one after all.

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I enter the small room my family uses for the morning meal and find Susan already there, a keen eye running over the table checking to see that all was in its proper location. Edmund inspects the army with a similar look. Not that I'd say that to either of them. Grinning at the comparison, Susan and I exchange greetings. Just as I pull a chair out for her, Lucy bursts through the door dragging a tousled looking Edmund behind her.

She greets us as Edmund slumps into a chair. I take in Lucy, still in her nightgown, and brace myself.

"Lucy, dear, why are you not dressed? I know you've been up for some time now." If Lucy can make you feel the need to confess and plead for forgiveness with a look, Susan can make anyone comply with the tone of her voice. A single sentence uttered in the gentlest of tones will turn a hardened soldier into a fumbling schoolboy.

"But Susan, I did not have time," my youngest sister explains earnestly.

"I wonder why not," I could just make out Ed's grumbled words.

"I had the most marvelous idea this morning, and I just had to tell Peter about it," Lucy continues a little breathlessly. I could have debated the degree of imperativeness of her early morning announcement.

Now distracted, Susan inclines her head to study Lucy's face. Taking this as an encouraging sign, the younger girl hastened to explain her plan. I am interested to see if she would ramble on as much this time.

"And so I want Narnia to remember the good parts of winter." She concludes, wide smile on her face, breakfast untouched.

I can see she's won Susan over, just as she had me. Ed is still more interested in his food than his sister, but I can tell he is thinking about Lucy's idea.

"When would you want to do this? There's already Christmas to celebrate, and that's in the winter." Edmund asks around a mouthful of biscuit.

"Edmund, please do not talk with your mouth full," comes Susan's automatic reply. She reminds me of someone in that moment, but I cannot remember exactly who it is.

Ed swallows, "Sorry." And he means it; I can remember when he would have yelled at Susan for that. Shaking off the memory, I turn my attention to Lucy.

"Well, Christmas isn't really about winter. And the worst thing about the Witch's rule was how Narnia was always cold," as she thinks aloud, I can't help but admire how neatly Lucy can summarize that. Always cold and always hopeless.

"The first time it snows! That's the best time of winter. Everything looks so fresh and new and there is so much fun to be had," Lucy is nodding to herself with conviction, "Like that time, in the country, when we went sledding and then Mummy made us hot cocoa and said we looked like snowmen."

The last was said in such a rush; I was completely caught off guard by the sudden memory. Two years ago; a trip to a family friend's house and unexpected snowfall. In England. The Other place. I had not thought of the time Before Narnia in a long while. Or our mother. Already, I could feel my memories fading, like sand falling through my fingers. I look up from the fine table to see Susan gazing as something unseen, Edmund studying his plate as though it held the secrets of the world, and Lucy staring at me, tears in her eyes. I look up at the tapestry over her head, the seal of Narnia. Idly, I remember Susan thought it too formal for this room, but it had stayed. The sight of the Lion steadied me. I knew it was up to me to relieve the tension.

"You're right, Lucy. That is a cheerful time of winter, now or in the time Before Narnia. But Alsan has placed us here, so we shall create a new celebration in honor of the season's first snowfall."

A sigh of relief from everyone at the table and the moment passes. "How shall we mark this occasion?" Susan pulls herself into the moment with what seems to be a great effort.

"Presents?" Lucy's hopeful voice causes everyone to laugh.

"Since it snows on different days every year, I do not think that is very practical," says Susan, "No one would know when to have their gifts."

"Oh, well that's true. How about a feast?" Lucy goes on, "No, the cooks wouldn't know when to make that either." I detect a hint of discouragement in her tone. I look to Susan for help; this really is not my strong suit.

"What about something like a festival? With dancing and simple dishes to be served in a buffet; the children could play games in the snow." Susan was excited now, a flush creeping across fair skin. Lucy claps her hands in delight, bouncing in her chair.

"But…" Ed nearly chokes on that word. We all look at him as he mutters something under his breath.

Ducking his head, he says quietly, "I'm not sure it's a good idea. It seems—disrespectful to celebrate winter when so many suffered during the last hundred years." He shoots an apologetic look to Lucy.

I consider my brother as he fiddles with his cutlery. Edmund had a point, but I would not want Narnia to forever mourn and be locked in its fear of winter.

"Edmund raises a valid point," I say slowly, adopting a neutral tone in the face of my crestfallen sisters, "but there can be remembrance and celebration. Those who suffered under the Witch would not want Narnia's joy to be muted." As I spoke, I felt more sure of myself, a sensation that has often happen in the past six months. As though the High King has taken over my body and dispels the trepidations of Peter.

"I think the beginning of the celebrations could begin with words of remembrance, perhaps a prayer or incantation of some sort," Susan adds, "and then everyone can celebrate the 'good things of winter' as Lucy puts it." Ed is nodding, though I can tell he is hesitant.

"Then it is decided." I need to end this. As much as I love this quiet time with my siblings, the kingdom cannot wait forever. "Susan and Lucy are in charge of organizing this. Ed, I would like you to come up with a tribute to those lost."

"Do you not want to help?" Lucy asks sweetly. I tweak her nose, "I have far too much to do today, Lu. Besides, I trust you and your sister to take care of it. I would be superfluous." She smiles as I turn to leave. I pretend not to see Susan's worried expression.

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I fear my backside has become permanently molded to the contours of the chair. Three candle marks of an endless council meeting on textile trade are wearing on me. As the ambassador continues to restate his opinion for at least the thirteenth time, my interest wanders. My eyes are drawn around the room, but I am careful to keep the appearance of polite attention. Invariably, I admire the brilliant banners hanging from the ceiling. _"…and thus the tariffs must be regulated on an adaptable scale. As the aforementioned situation indicates, our Guild members must be entitled to…"_ Idly, I wonder how my reputation would be affected if I gagged the diplomat with a banner? It would involve textiles….

I give myself a mental shake and end my daydreaming. At last it seems the speech is coming to an end. I should be solving problems and improving the state of Narnia, not debating trivial details. This is not how I want to help Narnia. Frustrated, I resist the urge to run a hand through my hair. After this morning's reports of the storm, I have a new round of issues with which to contend. The demands of the realm seem never-ending, and I cannot find solutions for it all. I feel as though I am failing everyone through my own inadequacies. And I, like the boy that I am, cannot even sit through a council meeting.

My advisors are concluding the session with appropriate good wishes for continued relations and deadlines for treaty provisos. The faces turn to me, and I nod, dismissing them with gratitude for their work. An advisor gives me a knowing look and offers to gather the papers, freeing me from the room. With a rushed thanks, I restrain my self from running. I also refuse to acknowledge that I am fleeing a room.

Desperate for fresh air, I turn and push through a heavy drape, exiting onto a balcony. The malevolent wind rips into me, and I shelter in the alcove. It is raining; the railings are starting to freeze. I hope Lucy's plans will not be dashed if all we get is a mess of ice from this storm. Without her presence, my mind wonders over the implications of having a celebration at an unknown time. It seems a logistical nightmare, and I cannot help but worry about it. It is added to my growing concerns about the winter and the state of Narnia and price of flax. It seems I cannot escape my reservations even if I can escape the council room. How can I handle all of this? A fresh gust of wind pelts me with raindrops, and I turn back into the hallway. I could not blame the inhabitants of Narnia for fearing winter; one does not undo a lifetime of suspicion in a few months. Perhaps Lucy has the right idea. I feel a smile spread across my face. Lucy is always right about these things.

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"I cannot do it." Edmund's sudden proclamation is punctuated by the door hitting the wall. I blink up at him from the stack of paper on my desk. He begins pacing the floor in front of my desk. I lean back, neck cracking. He pauses to give me a half-grin.

"Old man." I tossed an apple, a long forgotten snack, at his head. Exasperatingly, he catches it and bites into it as he shuts the door.

"You're the bottomless pit," I retort. He clutches his heart in mock agony. "Thou hast no sympathy for the plight of thy royal brother, a poor starving creature."

I roll my eyes at his dramatics; he's growing again, with the pinched look of a youth who has grown too quickly in too little time. I hope he does not end up taller than I.

"What can't you do?" I ask, and all humor fades from his face. He collapses into a chair, forgotten apple in his hand.

"I cannot think of a fitting tribute for those who suffered at the Witch's hand. Everything seems inadequate, and I should not be doing this. It was I who helped her commit those terrible crimes." His voice barely reached me above the crackle of the fire, and his eyes were shadowed.

We rarely discussed those dark days; we had forgiven him unconditionally, though I know he still feels guilty. Studying his shuttered face, I wondered for the thousandth time what happened to him then. I stood and walked around to him, leaning against the desk in front of his chair.

"Yes, you did," I say and his head jerks up, startled. "And you made mistakes and poor choices which led to terrible things." His mouth is slightly agape as I catch and hold his eye.

"But all men make mistakes. It is how you respond to them, how you fix them that matters. That is where your true character is revealed."

The fire pops unnaturally loudly in the silence that follows. I could see Edmund considering those words. Finally, "Who told you that?"

Now it was my turn to be caught off-guard. For a second I thought it might have been Aslan, but that was not correct. Then, with heartbreaking clarity, the sound of my father's voice echoed in my head.

"Dad."

And the sound of his voice, my memory of him was slipping away again. I tried to cling to it, but it was like trying to recall a dream. I place the heels of my hands against my eyes as though that would help.

"Is it wrong that I cannot remember him, that I cannot remember anything of life Before? Shouldn't I be more concerned with how we came to be here?" Edmund's quiet frustration parallels my thoughts. And I didn't know. I didn't have any answers. Some High King.

There was a loud crunch, and I look at Edmund. "This is too serious," he says with a piece of apple in his mouth, "It calls for food." And I laugh, the frustration leaving me.

"About the tribute, I think you can think of something. It does not need to be elaborate. In fact, I think something simple would be more fitting," I comment, getting back to our original topic. "As Lucy said this morning, the worse thing about Narnia under the Witch was the cold. Maybe that will help."

He gives me an incredulous look. I shrug; it really was poetic in its simplicity, but I admit it didn't give Ed a whole lot to go on. Thinking about this stuff was giving me a headache: too many problems, not enough answers. I didn't notice Ed scrutinizing me until he stood up and walked over to me.

"Why don't you take a break from the…" he glances at the desk, "the large stack of papers with small writing."

"I need to finish reviewing them. No, don't offer to help, I know you have a similar stack in your study," I sigh. "Especially since we have a celebration at some unknown time to attend."

He gives me another worried look, but offers no protest. "Really, I'm fine."

"Alright, but if you don't sleep tonight, promise you will take extra rest. You might be the High King, but there are three other monarchs plus an incredibly capable staff to look after things. Narnia's not going to fall into chaos if you don't attend to every detail at all hours. I'd offer to go riding with you now but," he gestures to the gloomy skyline.

How did Ed know I hadn't been sleeping? "It's fine, really; I'm fine. And you have to go do the thing for Lucy's festival. We need a name for it." I'm deflecting the issue and we both know it.

Mercifully, he lets it go, "Yes, it does need a name. Something about snow. Snow is cold, but fire…fire is not…" And with that rather inane statement he exits.

I shake my head wondering what that was about. I turn back to my desk, only to hear him rush back. He loops an arm around my shoulders and briefly touched his head to mine. "Thanks. For earlier." And with that he leaves again.

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I am nearly finished with my "large stack of papers with small writing" when my office door is thrown open again for the second time today. A miniature whirlwind comes flying in, calling my name in rapid succession.

"Lucy, Lucy, Lucy!" I answer, putting my quill down and pushing back my chair. She bounds into the chair, a knee on either side of my legs as grabs me around the neck.

"You must look outside; it's the most marvelous sight!" she exclaims, already sliding from her perch to tug on my hand. I look out the window and smile to see snowflakes floating down. Lucy gives my hand a more impatient jerk. It's go willingly or be dragged unceremoniously.

Lucy leads me down the hall and out onto the largest balcony in this section of the castle. Heedless of the cold, she dashes out and spins around, face turned up, arms outstretched, dress twirling beneath her. It is a most beautiful scene.

Her face light from within, she turns back to me. "Come on, Peter!"

No one could have resisted her. Certainly not her eldest brother, the one she's had around her finger since she was an infant.

Laughing, I pick her up and spin her around, her shouts of glee echoing off the stone.

"You really should have grabbed cloaks," Susan chides from the threshold. But she is smiling, holding two cloaks. Edmund comes running up the corridor. He looks as though he has been outside, dressed for warmth with color in his cheeks.

"I was in the stables when it started snowing. Took me forever to find you all," he pants as he gets closer. "When are we going to do your thing, Lu? And please tell me you have a name for this event."

"You finished the tribute?" Susan asks, an eyebrow raised. I wonder if he had asked her for help as well.

Edmunds is nodding, "Yes, I have your parts written for you."

"Parts?" I repeat.

"Yes, we each have a portion of the tribute."

I'm wondering how I got involved in this, but recognize this as a part of my duties. Before I could get lost in my thoughts, Lucy announces, "We'll have the ceremony just as the sun sets."

"It'll be dark then." I state, rather foolishly.

"That's the point," Lucy's looking at me like I have lost my marbles. "You really should get more sleep, Peter. It's beginning to affect your grasp on reality."

Not again. As I'm opening my mouth to protest, Susan unexpectedly saves me, "Yes, at dusk on the beach will be fine, although there isn't much time to prepare."

Gathering her thoughts, Susan sends Lucy to see someone about getting something set up, and me off to get changed; Edmund leaves to gather 'our parts'. I have captains that are not as efficient at deployment of troops.

With nothing else to do, I see Edmund about the details of the tribute and return to my chambers. My clothes are already laid out for me, along with a bath. Idly, I remember Ed's comment about Narnia being able to handle itself. It seems they were determined to prove that.

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As my siblings and I descended toward the beach, I took in the sea of faces. Tall torches set into the sand provided illumination up and down the length of the beach. How had the girls gotten word to everyone—all of Cair Paravel plus the surround area's inhabitants must have gathered. And what had compelled them all to attend? After all, it's freezing and snowing and night. But as we rounded the last curve of the path, Lucy leading the way, I knew.

It was Lucy.

Earnest and enthusiastic, no one could resist her. She was all that was good in Narnia; she was our faith, and she kept our hope alive. That was Narnia. Not the trade agreements or council meetings, not the thrones or the land. In a sudden realization that stole my breath I realized that I have forgotten. Faith, hope and love. Lucy, Edmund and Susan.

Aslan, forgive me and help me to remember.

We approach the enormous pile of wood, and the assembled masses gathered closer. Lucy steps forward, a tiny figure half in shadow, and the crowd falls respectfully silent.

"Thank you all for attending the Festival of the First Snow. It is our hope that this will become a Narnian tradition to honor those sacrifices made in our darkest days, celebrate our present joy, and express our hope for the future of Narnia."

The crowd waits, curious and uncertain, as a palace attendant handed each of us a burning piece of wood.

Then Susan approaches the woodpile, casting her flaming torch onto it, reciting:

_Though the winds tear at my body, I will not be afraid for my feet are firm on the land._

Edmund draws close enough to cast his down, calling in a clear voice:

_Though the ice makes the land treacherous, I will not fear for my mind is safe and sound. _

Lucy confidently makes her way next, throwing her own torch onto the now burning pile and articulating:

_Though the winter shadows trick my mind, I will not know terror for my heart is warm. _

Now it is I who steps forward and casts my burden onto the fire. In a voice that I am not sure is mine, for it has both poise and conviction, I intone:

_Though the cold seeps into all that is warm, I will have the courage to confront it. _

As the fire works to consume its fuel, my family and I, Kings and Queens of Narnia, continue:

_With this fire, I will not fear the cold and the darkness. _

_With this fire, I will have the light to see the beauty of winter. _

_For those who are gone, I will keep the fire, so that they may find their way home._

As flames grew, and the heat seared our faces, I saw a Lion's face, open to a majestic roar. But no, it was just a trick of light and a crack of falling wood. But then why is Lucy's hand up in mid-wave, why is Edmund standing straighter, and why are their tears in Susan's eyes?

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If the revelry that followed is any indication, I'd say Lucy's idea was a complete success. First Snow, as everyone is calling it, was a complete success. There was much toasting to everyone's health, roasting of the (non-talking) beasts over huge fire pits and general merriment. The high pitches of children's voices (Lucy among them) have faded as the younger ones settle down to watch the fauns and evergreen dryads dance or listen to tales.

Dancing in the firelight, with the snow falling down, was an experience unlike anything I have ever encountered. The heat of the flames contrasting with the cold of the night's air invigorated me in an indescribable way. It was as though I was in concert with all of Narnia. I think Lucy has created magic here tonight.

Susan drops down on the thick blanket beside me, offering me another mug of hot cider. As I wrap my hands around it, she asks, "Have you fixed whatever it is that's been bothering you?"

I stare at her, and then give her a rueful grin. How had I thought I was hiding anything from my siblings?

"I had become so concerned about taking care of the details and the need to be responsible for everything that I forgot what I was suppose to be working to protect. The true nature of Narnia was lost behind 'a large stack of paper with small writing'. I guess I needed to grow up a little," I confess. Then, thinking about Lucy, "Or maybe grow…down…a little."

Susan says nothing, but rubs my back in a soothing fashion. I sighed and looked up into the sky and the light snow. "I couldn't see the forest for the trees. Luckily for me, I didn't walk into a branch. I suppose I have you and Ed and Lucy to thank for that."

I look over at her face, transformed into true beauty with a smile. "As often as you are there to protect us and Narnia, we can do some of the work too. Alsan needed all four of us to rule. And we work better as a team, as a family."

I bend to kiss her cheek, "You're right as always, Su."

Edmund is making his way to us, flushed from a rather vigorous dance.

He sits on my other side, takes my cider and helps himself. "Did you get yourself sorted out?" Have I mentioned how fantastically annoying a family can be?

"Yes, I admit, I was going about this the wrong way."

He is quiet for a moment before replying with a sly, "Someone once told me that how you react to your mistakes is what is important."

I smack him upside the head.

I look up as a shadow falls over us. Lucy is there, back from where she'd been listening to a story of Narnia's creation. Her face is split by a yawn, and she kneels down to climb into my lap. I shift so I can pull her against me. "Do you feel better?" She asks, already on her way to sleep. I catch the amusement in the others' faces.

"Yes, Lu, thanks to you I feel much better." Susan fusses with Lucy's cloak, covering her completely, before settling against my side, one arm on Lucy. Both of my sisters' eyes have closed. After a while, Edmund gives in and slumps against me as well. The High King of Narnia, reduced to furniture by royal siblings.

I watch the fire fall on itself, its light diminishing but never failing, until the clouds break and the first light of false dawn falls down upon us. And I'm once again hopelessly tangled in cloth, with Lucy's cold feet against me. That might not be in the High King manual, but I think there was a mention of this in the Big Brother edition.

The northern wind pulls on my hair. I really don't need a handbook; I have a family to help me.

--End--


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